Porcelain
by susurrar
Summary: Grimy and broken, four girls continue forward with a futile longing for the past.
1. Hungry

No longer dressed in the school uniform all the other girls persisted in wearing, Alek sported cheap jeans and a letterman jacket far too big for her. She had found it while rummaging around the drawers upstairs.

She was lying on the bed in the master bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. The pungent scent of copper and bleach burned her nose.

The previous family had never left. Instead, their corpses were found in this very room, with a single gun and five fired rounds that shone like gold atop the blood-speckled floors. They were aligned side-by-side, each body possessing a sweet smile and neat bullet hole in the forehead.

Alek and the rest of the girls prepared a swift burial for the family before scouring the place clean.

This was their home now.

Entrances and windows have been reinforced with wood from tables and chairs. Blunt weapons, like the hickory cane that the deceased father had owned, were found and equipped by all five girls.

They had shelter, security and protection.

Now if only they could get some_ real_ food, Alek thought as she rolled over, attempting to stifle the growling that emanated from her stomach. Hunger grinded ruthlessly against her ribs, an ache that only seemed to intensify when the thought of hot, dripping steak crossed her mind.

Screw the zombies and their human flesh. She wasn't becoming all vegetarian just because of some brain matter on her shoes.

It was times like this that she sorely regretted taking cafeteria food for granted.

- toohungrytodietoohungrytodie toohungrytodietoohungrytodie -

"Hand it over."

"No, Gemma, I—"

"Hand it over."

The packaged wafers shook violently in the small girl's hands, as if threatening to burst open.

Gemma's thin arms were crossed impatiently. With a dirt-encrusted fingernail, she speared half-moons into the tight skin of her bicep. A slight sheen of sweat had settled over her forehead. She ran her tongue over her dry lips, awaiting the smaller girl's reply.

Bethany shifted her weight to the other foot, wincing at the loud click of her loafers.

"But...but I found them..."

Slowly, Gemma reached towards Bethany, ignored her slight flinch, and fastened her grip on the edge of the wrapper. She clamped the thin material between her forefinger and thumb, inducing a sharp crackling sound as she steadily rubbed it back and forth.

"..._them_?"

Bethany's eyes watered. Despite her evident fear of Gemma, she held onto the food. She was starving after all.

Saoirse watched this exchange wordlessly. With a soft sigh, she unfastened the pale ribbon from her wrist and drew her hair up into a thin ponytail. Airy tendrils of light, blond hair floated around her face, but she paid no heed to them. Exhaustion had casted deep shadows in the hollows of her cheeks and eyes.

She leaned against the edge of the dining room table, lightly gripping her bat.

The grimy thing felt disgusting in her hand. Her lip curled with disgust as she raked her nails over a patch of crusted blood. Burgundy flakes twirled listlessly through the empty air before landing gracefully on the floor.

She almost pitied Bethany; the brat, even with her thinned out cheeks and bony knees, somehow possessed enough energy to grip onto the food so tightly. Even Gemma, with her stony stare, couldn't seem to quash Bethany's resolve to eat a packet of expired wafers.

With a glance at the nearly empty food box, she returned her attention to the escalating confrontation.

"Where did you find _them_?"

Gemma felt the side of her face begin to twitch. It was very slight, but did not go unnoticed by the other girl. When Bethany remained silent, Gemma leaned in close, unable to contain her agitation any longer.

She sharply yanked Bethany's bedraggled pigtails upwards, forcing the smaller girl to meet her gaze.

It was the afternoon, judging by the warm, golden light that filtered through the cracks of the boarded windows.

The sunlight casted eerie stripes against Gemma's quivering face, one in particular highlighting her bright, green eyes. They were smooth and cold, containing the faintest spark of anger. Bethany nervously thumbed the wafers.

The crackle of cellophane was nearly deafening.

"You won't tell?"

"I only found one."

The lie sounded unconvincing to Bethany's own ears. Gemma froze. Other than Bethany's labored breathing, no sound hovered between the two. Saoirse's eyes flickered from one face to the other.

Gradually, Gemma brought a hand to her forehead, cupping it as if she was checking for a fever. Her eyes were shut.

"So there was more?" Her tone was no longer demanding. Instead, she sounded terribly pained, as if the little chuckle that followed afterwards required immense effort.

Slowly, she slid out the kitchen knife from the waistband of her skirt.

She pressed the blade lightly against Bethany's cheek. The chill of the metal sank past her grimy skin, worn muscles, and aching bones. She felt an unspeakable ache at her core, so painful and horrible, it nearly made her breathless. Quivering, Bethany stared into Gemma's hard eyes.

Saoirse eyed both Gemma and Bethany warily, firmly grasping her bat. Gemma took in a shallow breath. That sound, the mere intake of air, seemed to hover over them for what felt like hours.

"You're getting food this time. _Alone_."

Bethany blinked.

Disbelief written all over her face, Saoirse took a step forward, still holding the bat.

Food runs were a suicide mission. Most, if not all, of the time, Alek and Gemma did the scavenging. They were strong and fast, never taking any more time than they needed. That crisp awareness was something Bethany just didn't have. Sending out a coddled brat like Bethany, _alone_, was no better than tossing her right to the zombies.

"Gemma, you can't be serious! She'll die out there!"

"She's too hungry to die."

Despite her slight smile, there was no hint of teasing in Gemma's voice.

Bethany blinked twice.

"What...what are you—"

"You go to the city tomorrow. You come back tomorrow night. In addition to the canned goods, I want you to bring back triple the stash you hid from the group."

"I hid nothing! I—"

Gemma dug the knife into Bethany's cheek, creating a thin line along her cheekbone. Bethany cried out in pain, earning a swift kick to the chest. She fell hard, painfully knocking her head in the process.

"We're all starving and exhausted. But _you_...just how many boxes did you find? Two, three?"

Bethany, still on the ground, looked away from Gemma. Instead, she focused on Saoirse's shoes, which were navy and dirty just like hers.

"One. Just one," she said softly. Tears fell freely now, leaving glistening trails on her filthy cheeks.

"Get up," Gemma commanded. With her free hand, she roughly pulled up Bethany by the arm. Ignoring Bethany's screams, she dragged her knife across Bethany's other cheek.

"Remember, _triple the stash_."

* * *

a/n:

I only own my OCs. I do not own TWD or its characters.

With that aside, thank you for reading.

Leaving me a review would be wonderful. :]

Constructive criticism, thoughts, and speculations are all welcome.

Also, I understand that this chapter is a bit confusing. That's the point. So stick around, and questions you have, or may later have, will most likely be answered.

So...WHOOOOO. Thanks, again!


	2. Hear me

Gemma applied the pigmented cream to her lips and cheeks. She blended it evenly into her skin, rubbing the product across her cheekbones, and gradually fading it upwards towards her temples. The faint flush gave her pale complexion a charming glow; her eyes seemed brighter and her teeth shone a pearly white. After touching up her eyeliner and brows, she stepped back from the vanity, green eyes intently scanning her face for the slightest smudge.

Her gaze landed on a speck of mascara, located a bit under her lash line. Her mouth went taut with annoyance as she reached for a cotton swab, lightly dipped it in makeup remover, and proceeded to remove the abomination. With one conclusive swipe, she deemed her makeup finished.

As if on cue, the faint jangle of keys sounded outside her door. Gemma glanced at it once before starting on her hair. From her peripherals, she saw a familiar, black-clad girl shuffle into the immaculate dorm room. Her face was hidden deep in the recesses of her hood, making it impossible to make out her features. Her sweater was unflattering and large, practically engulfing her tiny frame. She yanked off her sneakers and placed them neatly on the shoe rack.

Not wasting any time, she walked briskly to the bathroom. Despite her horrible posture, her steps were graceful and fluid, suggesting some sort of nimbleness about her. She shut the door quietly behind her and locked it. Gemma heard the squeak of the shower handles, quickly followed by a roaring torrent of water.

"Alek," Gemma called out loudly, "it's your turn for laundry."

No response.

"Alek! Did you hear me?" Gemma tried again. She set her straightener down, eyes boring into the door of the bathroom, as if doing so would actually make a difference in Alek's hearing.

"I put the laundry on the sofa!"

There was a soft murmur of reply. Under the layers of the crashing water and thick steam, Alek's voice sounded insubstantial and distant.

Gemma frowned but deemed the reply acceptable.

She picked up her straightener and ran it through her blond hair, curving the ends toward her face.

It's been four months, but her roommate still seemed like a total stranger. Alek slipped in and out of the room whenever she pleased, only staying to sleep and shower. She left the house at five every day, and usually arrived at midnight.

Other than school, where Gemma caught an occasional glimpse of the fleet-footed girl maneuvering through the crowded hallways, she never saw Alek.

Gemma didn't mind the tacit barrier between them. Yes, she found it a bit unnerving, having a roommate that had no more of a presence than a ghost, but she could live with it. Alek wasn't loud, messy, or intrusive. She wordlessly complied to Gemma's systematic approach to chores, which Gemma found greatly pleasing.

Gemma did laundry five days a week and tidied up the dorm every day. Alek did laundry two days a week and bought groceries three times a month.

There was a mutual understanding between the two.

Do your chores and you won't get bothered.

Gemma didn't mind it at all.

- didyouhearmedidyouhearmedidy ouhearmedidyouhearmedidyouhe arme -

Alek looked at the screen of the dead T.V. Her elbows rested on her knees, hands interlaced.

She was completely still.

"I'm begging you! Please!"

"Gemma told you to do it."

"Alek," Bethany desperately grabbed onto the sleeve of Alek's jacket, "_please!_ I'll die out there!"

Still staring at the black screen, she responded calmly, not a hint of anger or agitation in her voice.

"You think I'm not risking anything, being out there?"

"You're far more experienced than I am," Bethany pointed out, not missing a beat,"you're already used to killing stuff."

Alek stiffened a bit.

"You think I'm _used_ to it?"

Bethany, detecting the edge in the other girl's voice, removed her hand from Alek's jacket. She let out a nervous laugh, one that seemed to worsen the tense atmosphere.

"I'm not saying you're a murderer or something. I mean, you're really good with a knife and—"

At the mention of a knife, Alek's eyes flickered over to Bethany's face. Thick, jagged scars marred her soft cheeks; Gemma clearly hadn't bothered with making a clean cut.

Suddenly conscious of the wounds, Bethany brought a shaking hand to her face, tenderly running a finger over each ragged laceration.

Alek looked away, focusing on the T.V. once more.

After a painful silence, Alek spoke.

"It'll get infected...you should put some alcohol on that."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks though."

Bethany's weak smile didn't reach her eyes.

"We'll need to go to the pharmacy, then. See if they got any meds."

Alek absentmindedly rubbed her lower lip, where a thin scar split the flesh.

"We're heading out tonight. Pack your gear."

Bethany's eyes widened a bit, before shutting completely with relief.

"Thank you, Alek. Thank you."

* * *

a/n:

Thank you NL March and tbergo17 for being my first reviewers! Your kind words were far too nice. D':

Haha, thank you very much! Hope you stick around.

Anyway, this chapter was a bit confusing. All you must know, however, is that the first portion is from the past, and the second is set in the present. ;)

Thank you for reading.


	3. Victim

Saoirse amped up the speed on the treadmill. A familiar ache had worked its way across her thighs and calves, but she gritted her teeth and increased speed. Above the noisy drone of the machine, she could barely make out her ragged breathing. Her ponytail thumped against her sweat-soaked back with a steady rhythm.

Sonoma watched her from the elliptical. She looked at Saoirse over her pudgy shoulder, a satisfied smile working over her glistening face. Her neon sports bra strained with each step she took.

Saoirse still didn't get why Sonoma persisted in wearing only a sports bra.

In addition to being unnecessarily showy, the sports bra was meant for people with nice bodies.

Not for some pasty, undeveloped fifteen-year-old that's had her fair share of cake.

"I don't get fitness people like you." Sonoma easily glided on the machine, having set the resistance to the lowest. "What do you gain by putting yourself through so much pain?"

Saoirse narrowed her eyes. Although it took some effort, her voice came out perfectly clear and snappy.

"Then why did you come with me to the gym? I didn't have to waste my gas carrying extra weight in the car."

"Well, you're always whining about how fat I am."

"Do not twist my words. I said you could be eating health—"

"It's the same thing," Sonoma scoffed. She turned to the screen of the elliptical and, with a pink fingernail, shut off the machine. She uncapped her water bottle and brought it to her lips, greedily sucking at it like a baby with its milk.

"You're done with the elliptical? You've been on for seven minutes," Saoirse's eyes darted to the screen, "and your resistance was set on one."

Sonoma shot Saoirse a glare. She slowly twisted the cap back onto the bottle, her eyes never leaving Saoirse's.

"Can you _stop_, already? Stop talking about my weight."

"I didn't even say—"

"_Didn't say_? Seriously? Do you think I'm _that_ stupid?"

Saoirse's breathing grew strained as she struggled to maintain pace.

"I never," she took a quick breath, "said that."

Sonoma laughed loudly; it sounded shrill and unpleasant, practically grating against Saoirse's ears. A couple of guys near the weights looked in their direction. They glanced at Sonoma and her thick waist, but their eyes lingered on Saoirse.

"Mom doesn't get it. She says that you're looking out for my health. Being a nice sister." Sonoma stood in front of Saoirse's treadmill, gripping her water bottle. Sweat ran in rivulets down her furious face, trickling off her chin and onto the ground.

"She doesn't see how cruel and critical you are. Nobody does."

Saoirse smiled a bit. She shut off the treadmill and walked past her younger sister, heading towards the coat rack. She slid on her jacket, felt her pocket to make sure her keys were there, and walked out the gym.

After a few seconds, she heard Sonoma's sneakers smacking against the pavement. They silently went inside the car, letting the humid air fill the empty space between them. Saoirse slid the keys into the ignition.

She backed out slowly from the parking space, her eyes never leaving the grimy mirror.

"Stop being an angsty teenager, Sonoma. You are _not a victim_. You never _have been_."

"I am not—"

"_Shut. Up._"

Sonoma went silent.

Saoirse took a deep breath and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Her knuckles paled as she struggled to maintain composure.

"I'm leaving in a few months. To college. _I will_ be gone._ I will_ be away from you. So until then, don't bother me with your petty teenage insecurities."

She kept her eyes on the mirror.

"Do you understand me, Sonoma?"

- youarenotavictimyouarenotavi ctimyouarenotavictimyouareno tavictim -

"Where are you going?"

"Exploring."

Gemma leaned against the doorframe, eyeing the slim girl. Alek had an empty backpack slung loosely over a shoulder. In her left hand, she held a slender, black flashlight. Her hair was tucked tightly underneath a black baseball cap, but a few ebony strands had managed to escape.

It was raining a bit. The sky had managed to be both light and dark at the same time; behind the soupy veil of grey and blue clouds was the faintest glow of sunlight. It illuminated the paler strokes of sky, casting an eerie, muffled light on the earth. With a blurry quickness, droplets of rain dotted the parched dirt.

Alek's slouched figure was a stark outline against the sticky mist. She stood weary but defiant, letting the rain soak her baggy clothes.

"Exploring? It's like six in the morning."

Gemma glanced at her watch, where the hour hand, indeed, rested on the six.

"Need to cover as much ground as possible," Alek explained patiently. She tossed up the flashlight and caught it neatly in her other hand.

"What's the point of this?"

"To familiarize myself with the area."

"Ah," Gemma watched as Alek flipped the flashlight back to her left hand, "I see. We're holed up in this house, without any idea of where we are. We're practically sitting ducks for robbers and creeps."

"Exactly. I want to find escape routes. Make a map."

"Alright. You got your weapon?"

Alek brandished her Bowie knife from its sheath. The gleaming blade, Gemma suddenly noticed, reflected the tumultuous sky and roiling clouds with acute clarity.

Gemma blinked. She stared at Alek, her eyes dull with hunger. Her voice, however, came out firm.

"Be careful."

"Yeah."

Gemma watched as Alek pulled the gate open, shut it, then jog down the street. Her sneakers did not make the slightest sound against the ground.

She always moved. Quietly.

When Gemma had first went scavenging with Alek, she was amazed at the girl's endurance. Alek never stood still, choosing instead to pad softly around wherever she went. Gemma noticed how she always stood on the balls of her feet, resembling a boxer of some sort.

It was practical—the way Alek always shifted around, ready to react if something happened. Gemma acknowledged that. She, however, couldn't help the sense of uneasiness that worked over her whenever she saw Alek dance about, as if hinting at some impending doom.

Gemma walked back into the house and shut the door behind her.

* * *

a/n:

Once again, thank you NL March, tbergo17, and Jennie. Your feedback is kind and motivating. :]

The first portion, like the last chapter, is from the past, and the second is current.

Thank you very much!

All reviews are loved. :p


	4. Catch

It is the last game of the season.

Bethany grins widely, flashing her signature pristine smile. Perfectly synchronized with the other girls, she twirls and kicks up her leg. Her pleated skirt flutters upward; this garners a deafening roar of approval from the predominantly male crowd. After executing a series of flashy dance moves, some toe touches, and herkie jumps, she is finally hoisted up into the air. Briefly, she looks down at one of the girls supporting her. Talia, her right base, returns her gaze with impassive eyes.

Her grip on Bethany's shoe is loose.

Bethany, smile still in place, attempts to repress the wave of fear rising inside of her.

_She will not catch me. She will not catch me. She will not—_

It is quick and brutal.

The audience watches, horrified, as the small girl drops to the field with a dull thud.

She does not appear to move.

- shewillnotcatchmeshewillnotc atchmeshewillnotcatchmeshewi llnotcatchmeshewillnotcatchm e -

Alek roughly sketched on the pad she had the forethought to bring. With short, rapid strokes, she draws out a layout of the land. It is far from perfect, but it's a start. She would have to do more exploring in the future. She is only familiar with one path, which leads her directly to the city for scavenging excursions.

It was the way the girls had escaped from only months ago.

She has it perfectly memorized, but she had created markers for the other girls. On certain trees, she had tied pieces of her shirt to its branches or carved crude markings into its trunks. Although not perfectly reliable, they served their purpose adequately enough.

The sharp crackle of leaves catches her attention. Her eyes intently scan the lush greenery that surrounds her. She is already poised to run, crouched forward and arms bent at 90 degree angles.

"Alek?"

She relaxes when she sees Bethany, hair disheveled and eyes fearful, emerge from the thicket. Bethany resembles a forest nymph of some sort, with her elfish face, thin limbs, and pale hair. Even with such a distressed look on her face, she retains an air of mirth about her; Bethany's lips are naturally curved upward, giving off the illusion that she, no matter how she was actually feeling, was perpetually smiling.

She slowly makes her way over to Alek, who merely nods at her and resumes her drawing. Bethany is panting heavily, having sprinted through the forest just moments before; she clearly had woken a bit later than she intended.

"What time did you come here?" She chokes out, still struggling to catch her breath.

"Couple hours ago. Scoping out the land."

Bethany fumbled with one of the straps on her backpack.

"Ah, cool. Uh...Gemma doesn't, uh, think we're together or anything, right?"

"No. She thinks I'm exploring."

A soft sigh of relief escapes Bethany's lips.

"I can't thank you enough for this. It would be really scary if I was alone."

"Yeah."

Alek, beginning to tire of mapping, starts doodling in the corner of the paper. She's not totally lax, however; she stiffens at every noise, always looking up and behind her every couple seconds. Her foot taps lightly against the ground as she patiently waits for Bethany to catch her breath.

Bethany is fidgeting about, both thankful and worried by the lack of communication between them. She would like to get to know Alek better, but she's almost frightened by what she might learn.

Alek was different from the other girls.

Of course, Saoirse and Gemma didn't exactly constitute as normal, but they weren't as quiet as Alek was. They weren't as unreadable. Although not particularly tall or imposing, Alek carried herself with an intimidating grace. Her perennial slouch gave off a sense of nonchalance and faint arrogance, as if she couldn't care less about your existence. Deep, cobalt eyes always averted away from you, never looking down, but always away from you. Away from your face.

"I'm ready to go."

For a short second, blue eyes meet hers. They are piercing and intimidating, but not unkind. Alek slides the pad in her pocket and breezes past Bethany.

"Never get distracted." Alek's low voice seems distant as she goes to take lead. She looks behind her shoulder once before continuing to walk ahead.

"Stay on your toes. Use your eyes and ears."

"Okay." Bethany watches Alek thrust her hands into her sweater pockets and lean forward into that familiar slouch. She moves calmly and evenly, seemingly unthreatened by whatever may lurk in the wildlife.

No matter how fast Bethany thinks she's going, Alek seems to increase the distance between them with another fluid step.

After deftly maneuvering around a cluster of roots, Alek picks up from where she left off.

"The more time you waste, the more you're vulnerable."

"Okay."

"And lastly," Alek slows down a bit, waiting for Bethany to catch up, "_always keep a cool head_."

"Okay."

"Getting there will take about two hours. Scavenging might take four or five. Getting back will take two. It'll be exhausting, but don't let your concentration slip."

Bethany's palms feel clammy. Her throat tightens. She drags the back of her hand across her forehead, wiping away the rapidly collecting sweat from her brow. She quashes the wave of apprehension threatening to swallow her whole.

And Gemma was planning to sent her out on her own.

"Okay." She was beginning to sound like a recorded message. She clears her throat and tightens her grip on the handles of the backpack.

"Good."

Without another word, the girls make their way to the city.

* * *

a/n:

GAH. I apologize for not updating last week. I was super uninspired. Everything I wrote didn't feel right no matter how many times I tried to rewrite it.

Anyway, I'm satisfied with how the chapter played out.

Alek and Bethany have a weird bond. Even I'm not certain what's up between the two. :/

Anyway, thanks again to NL March and the guest reviewers! I love the feedback, as it keeps me motivated to continue writing.


	5. Don't Look

"I have to show you something."

He's sitting at the edge of the bed, face slightly turned in her direction. Gemma's leaning against the headboard, half-buried in the pillows and staring out the window. The penthouse has a beautiful view to offer, one which she unwillingly tears her gaze from to focus on her lover. It's a decision she regrets. The vast sea of blankets between them remind her of the snow she saw when she had visited Alaska: snow, freezing snow, completely filled the edges of her vision. It dulled her senses, rendered her limbs sluggish and weak. Like a child, she stumbled clumsily through the cold stuff, feeling the ice nip her skin with each fall.

She represses these feelings, however, prompting him to go on.

"What is it?"

Feigning ignorance, she widens her eyes and tilts her head a bit. Her blond hair drops over her shoulder, gliding over the silk dress shirt he had lent her. With the gold sunlight spilling out all over her, onto her pale complexion, gold hair, and emerald eyes, she knows she looks like a dream; he, completely aware of what she's doing, stiffens a bit. His gaze turns to the window, where Gemma had been looking at only moments ago.

They both, Gemma realizes with amusement, find it far more pleasing to look at that than each other.

He stands up and begins walking to the living room, not bother checking if she would follow.

Because she would. She always would.

They padded quietly into the room, which was a chaotic mess: dried paint brushes sticking to the floor, opened jars of substances Gemma didn't recognize, and unfinished sculptures scattered throughout the room. The one he led her to, however, was finished. A deep green cloth had been draped artfully around it; she smiled a bit. It matched the color of her eyes. How sweet.

Long, trembling fingers carefully stroking the soft suede, he gently pulled off the fabric.

She is stunned.

No, it was not because of the fact that he had taken the time to painstakingly immortalize her in marble; they had been together for years, so Gemma had been expecting that kind of thing.

It was the expression that had truly surprised her.

Everything else was flawless; the curve of her full lips, the slim tip of her nose, and angled eyes were all spot-on.

But the expression.

Her eyes were casted downwards, blank irises staring at anything other than the viewer. Her mouth was set in a crooked grin. Smile lines were cut tenderly into the smooth, white marble. The woman appeared submissive and meek, not at all sensual as her expression may have suggested.

Gemma stares wordlessly at the marble bust. She felt his eyes burning into her skin, as if daring her to speak. Naturally, she does. The word is mingled in with her saliva; it slides past the crevices of her teeth, out of her lips, and into the empty silence.

"..._Maria_..."

He starts a bit, before regaining his composure. Somewhat regaining his composure.

"What about her?" he snarls, as if angry that Gemma even had the nerve to mention her. She is still studying the cool stone before her. Her rage is building inside of her, however, and she is desperately trying not to scream. Her hands shake and her face twitches.

"You," she takes a deep breath, "have never looked at me, have you?"

"Why did you bring up _Maria_?"

"I've dealt with it, though. Dealt with that insatiable hole in your heart. Maria, _oh Maria_..."

"_What about her_?"

She meets his eyes. She's a great deal smaller than him, but she doesn't care for petty things like that. She roughly grabs the front of his shirt and lands a kiss on his unsuspecting lips. It is far from satisfying, but Gemma feels it's necessary.

"I'm going back to my dorm Anthony. I'll call you later, okay?"

In a flurry of expensive perfume and candied body wash, she gathers her things and leaves his apartment.

He is speechless.

- don'tlookdon'tlookdon'tlookdon'tlookdon'tlookdon'tlookdon'tlookdon'tlookdon'tlook -

"Cans? Boxes?"

"I've got all the food in my bag, Alek."

"Good. Now we go to the pharmacy."

Bethany jogs after Alek, who seems to have an endless reservoir of energy. After Alek had gotten her supplies in a matter of seconds, she had rushed over to Bethany. While Bethany did appreciate Alek watching over her, she couldn't help but feel more nervous when Alek paced about like a restless demon. Bethany seemed to drop and fumble more things, which would only increase the speed of Alek's soft cantering. Eventually, much to Bethany's, and probably Alek's, relief, they made it out alright. They were currently running down a deserted alleyway, one Bethany would never before have thought of stepping foot in but Alek insisted that they were far safer here than the main streets.

Throughout the trip, Alek had swiftly taken care of all the zombies, always away from Bethany's sight. When she heard the slightest sound, she turned to Bethany, told her to wait a bit, and came back a bit more breathless and blood-stained than before. During the past three hours, this has happened more than fifteen times.

Bethany was grateful. Grateful but slightly miffed.

She had a weapon too. Granted, she wasn't nearly as efficient with it as Alek was with her knife, but she could probably do some damage with it. Probably.

She knew her annoyance was unjustified and Alek was doing her a favor, but she still couldn't help feel irritated at the fact that she was not relied upon whatsoever.

"Alek..."

The uncertainty in her voice made Alek glance at her before speeding up. Bethany grudgingly kept up with her. She's growing a bit tired, they've been running all day after all, and all she would like to do is go home and sleep.

She's horrified by the fact that they would be here for another six hours.

"What is it?"

"We don't need to go to the pharmacy. I don't want to risk anything." Bethany silently hoped that Alek would agree, for this would reduce the length of their trip. Of course she doesn't, though.

"You're not the only reason why we're going there."

Ouch. Bethany feels her eyes begin to well up with tears as she chokes out a watery, "Oh."

Alek glances at her again.

Bethany doesn't even know why she's crying. It's the hunger. The exhaustion. Yeah, that sounds just about right. She tugs the brim of her striped hood lower. After a long pause, Alek says something that throws her completely off guard.

"Sorry."

Bethany's mind is completely blank. She tries to read Alek's face, but, as usual, is met with the mask of nonchalance she knows all too well.

"So—_sorry_?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, ah...uh...so—_woah_. Uh, I mean," Alek looks at her again, an ebony eyebrow raised, "don't, uh, wo—worry about it."

"Alright."

"I didn't me—"

Bethany cuts herself off abruptly, choosing to gag instead. Alek is much more subtle, covering her nose and mouth with one hand, and gripping her knife with the other.

Bethany _thought_ she was use to the stench. The smell of death and rot—foul but somehow layered with with faintest notes of sickening sweetness. It lingered constantly in the air; even back at the house, where the girls had thought they washed it clean, was the slight scent, always hovering everywhere. No matter how much she changed her clothes or washed herself, it was always there.

This, however, was on an entirely new level.

She couldn't speak, much less breathe without coughing uncontrollably. Yesterday's meager lunch threatened to come back up.

"Bethany," Alek hisses, "_don't look._"

Alek, who is only but a few inches taller than herself, is blocking her view. Alek's arms are thrusted outwards, like a T, preventing Bethany from seeing whatever Alek was trying so hard to hide.

But Bethany can hear. Not as well as Alek, but she can hear.

The sounds of eating, wet sucking and moist lip-smacking, makes her mouth, oddly enough, water. She can't help but wonder what they're eating if...

Oh god.

"Is it..._them_? The monsters?"

Alek does not answer her question. Instead, she grips Bethany's arms and pulls her rapidly towards the direction they had originally come from. Bethany catches a quick glimpse over Alek's shoulder.

Five, ten figures are picking at the remains of what appear to be a horse. What color it was, Bethany can't even tell. The only thing that remains of it is bones and a bit of flesh that the zombies were currently picking away at. Zombies...

There is one, a girl, judging by its long, matted brown hair, is crouched next to the carcass, clawing at the ribs. She's wearing pink converse and loose jeans, which sag unflatteringly off her bony frame. Her skin is a sickly shade of grays, blacks, and purples, and seems to be withering off right underneath her jawline. Her mouth is crimson; her yellowed teeth snap ferociously as she chews another hearty handful.

She looks at Bethany. With milky eyes ringed with shadows, she looks at Bethany.

She goes back to her meal though, as Alek hurriedly ushers the sobbing girl away from the macabre sight.

* * *

a/n:

NL March...you are awesome. :0 Seriously. Awesome.

Ahem. Moving on.

This chapter is way more dark. There's love and (finally!) zombies. I felt bad for Beth, even if she could get a bit whiny...

Words seriously flew out like water for me. Video games, chips, and a lot of sleep did the trick.

Thank you for reading! Leave me a review? ;)


	6. Kidding

Saoirse was awake.

She sat erect in her bed, her sweat-dampened bed sheets twisted around her ankles. She was gripping the side of her neck. Her nails cut into the smooth flesh with little difficulty; ribbons of scarlet cascaded from the wound, sinking into the thick fabric of her cotton t-shirt. Her eyes were opened.

_I do because I do._

_There is no reason for the doing. With fruitless persistence, I work tirelessly away at every task given to me. There is no questioning. There is no thinking._

The sky was a lustrous indigo. The moon was settled comfortably above the clouds, bathing them in its usual resplendency.

Yes, her life was simple. A predictable, recurring pattern.

If she knew it so well, why could she not leave it then?

Obligations was it?

She peeled away the hair that stuck to her moist skin. As she reached for a piece that clung to her lip, the sharp scent of blood stung her nose. Indifferent, she looked down at her fingers that glistened with the substance in the darkness.

"Saoirse! Are you alright?"

Her mother burst into the room, hair ruffled and eyes rimmed pink. She wore a ratty shirt, baggy shorts, and mismatched socks; she was certainly different from the woman Saoirse had seen hours ago. No elegant blouse, trim pencil skirt, and dainty satin pumps. Saoirse, however, could detect the faint scent of cheap hairspray, bare remnants of the mother she knew best. The one that brushed on maroon lipstick before going off to work for fifteen hours, who would then come home to cook a somewhat satisfying frozen dinner, and then proceed to collapse onto her bed.

Not this mother. Not this protective, doting woman that checked on her daughter at two in the morning.

Kathy had never really had the time to shower Saoirse and Sonoma with love and kisses.

They were okay with it, though. Well, Saoirse was, anyway. She didn't really know how Sonoma felt.

"Kathy," Saoirse had persisted in calling her mother by her first name ever since she was a child. "I'm fine."

"Your neck!"

"Just a scratch."

"It's bleeding a lot."

Saoirse pulled up her shirt by the collar and pressed the coarse fabric against the cut. It stung a bit, but it was nothing deep.

"I can take care of it. Go to bed.'

"The night terrors..." Kathy had calmed considerably; her voice had shifted into "cool business woman", which was what Sonoma liked to call it. It was smooth and light, like a newly opened bottle of fresh mineral water.

"They've gotten worse, haven't they? We can get you a psychologist...one of my clients goes to a good one, or so she says. Sanders or Slanners—something like that."

"Why not? Give me the card and I'll call her."

"It's a _him_. Are you comfortable with that?"

"...I don't see how that would make a difference."

Kathy leaned heavily against the doorframe. Saoirse noticed the deep shadows under her mother's eyes and wondered how much concealer it would take to cover them.

Her mother had an impressive array of makeup: velvety eyeshadows, berry lip stains, pale blushers, creamy foundations, and an arsenal of brushes.

More than once has Saoirse fingered the feminine products with curiosity, applying them haphazardly to her face. She had when she was a mere child, an age where exploring your mother's medicine cabinets was considered one of the more riskier things in life.

Saoirse's nostalgic thoughts scatter when her mother speaks again.

"Fine. I'll work out a schedule for you."

"No, I'll take care of it. You're busy with work. I know my schedule best, anyway."

"Whatever is most convenient with you."

"Alright. Thanks."

"Good night."

Her mother lingers at the door, as if wanting to say one last thing. She doesn't, though. The thought of her warm mattress is far too irresistible. With a tired wave, she bids her oldest daughter farewell.

Saoirse falls back into her pillow and closes her eyes.

She patiently waits for the dreamless sleep that never comes.

- You'rekiddingmeYou'rekiddingmeYou'rekiddingmeYou'rekiddingmeYou'rekiddingme -

"Alek is with Bethany."

Gemma is sitting on the couch, legs crossed neatly underneath her. She draws a finger up and down the padded armrest, tracing swirls into the pebbled leather. She sounds bored, but Saoirse could hear the agitation laced into her words.

Saoirse is walking the perimeter of the room, stopping to check each window. She stops at the one next to the powder room and squints through. It's getting a bit dark; a dreary blue has spread across the sky and the sun is practically invisible behind the misty clouds.

"What makes you think that?"

Saoirse hooks her fingers underneath each board and pulls, checking the resistance of each one. The third one she pulls feels a bit too loose under her grasp—she would need to re-hammer that one.

"Alek knows better than anyone how dangerous it is at night. I highly doubt she would be romping around the woods, _exploring_, when it's already this late."

"She returns way later after scavenging. Why are you so concerned?"

"You _know_ why."

Saoirse turns to look at Gemma, whose mouth is drawn into a thin frown. Saoirse raises an eyebrow.

"No, I don't really."

Gemma sighs and sinks deeper into the sofa.

"Out of all days, she chooses _today_ to go 'exploring.' The same day when Bethany goes to scavenge alone—well, _supposedly_ alone."

"So she's with Bethany...what's the big deal?"

"You're kidding me."

Saoirse moves on to the next window. Gemma is watching the girl's back now, frowning even deeper.

"Without Alek, Bethany would die in two seconds flat."

"That's not the point, Saoirse. She _stole_, so she gets _punished_. Why else would I have sent her out alone? She needs to learn her lesson."

"There's no point if she's dead."

"This is entirely her fault. She hid the food and ate it for herself."

"She's hungry."

"Your point? We _all_ are."

Saoirse feels her willpower diminishing by the second. Honestly, she knew Gemma was right.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to completely agree with the other girl.

"You _cut_ her face."

"You didn't seem to protest," Gemma points out, arms crossed.

Saoirse winces a bit at the memory; all she remembers is Gemma, green eyes livid, slashing at Bethany as if she were a slab of meat. There was not a lot of blood, but the meager amount of it somehow ended up everywhere. Dots of poppy stained Gemma's clothes and skin, the floor, the table...

Genma smiles charmingly, as if reading Saoirse's thoughts.

"Besides, it's infinitely better than throwing her to the zombies."

"...which you essentially did by making her scavenge alone."

"Ah, but that's the thing—_she's not alone._" Gemma isn't smiling anymore. Exhausted, something everyone has been feeling lately, she rubs her eyes and sighs.

"Don't you get it, Saoirse? Why don't you get it? Am I making it difficult to understand?"

Saoirse pulls at another board. She has lost the energy to retort back, instead choosing to grit her teeth.

"Saoirse, the four of us—we're going to separate one day. Coddling Bethany like this...it doesn't do any good. You think she's going to know how to _scavenge_ all by herself? _Find shelter_? _Kill_? No. No, certainly not. She's not going to always have us, you know."

"People are far more durable than you think."

"Oh, yes, because Bethany is _clearly_ survivor material. Save it, Saoirse," Gemma scoffs. She rolls back her head and presses a hand against her eyes. All this bickering was giving her headache.

"Let's just wait for the girls to come back. Hunger...it's making us irritable."

"Hey, I feel completely fine. Maybe it's just you, Gemma."

For once in a long time, Gemma cracks a tiny smile. Saoirse, however, is too preoccupied with the windows to notice this.

"Save it, Saoirse."

* * *

a/n:

Thank you all for your reviews. Seriously, thank you. :)

Anyway...I've FINALLY updated.

I like Saoirse (pronounced, surprisingly enough, "Seer-Sha") a lot. I don't know why, really.

I feel as though she's a mix of the other girls: Alek's obscurity, Gemma's harshness, and a dash of Bethany's insecurity.

I never intended for her to be like that, but now reading over this chapter, she seems to possess strong traits of the other girls. Maybe it's just me. I do hope that she still appears to be her own unique character. I don't want her to be a creation of everyone else.

Thank you very much for reading. Leaving me a review would be awesome.


	7. Agitation

Bethany knew Austin had been eyeing her for months now. She didn't dare breathe a word about it though—the complications that would arise from her doing so were far too troublesome.

Austin was Talia's brother. Talia was Bethany's friend.

Talia was somewhat tall, a perfectly acceptable 5'7, long-legged, and thin. She wore a crisp uniform of skinny jeans and stylish boots to school every day, along with her trimmed eyebrows, glossed lips, and enhanced cheekbones. Her teeth had been bleached an aggressive white, her hair a bright yellow.

It wasn't these traits, however, that made her the influential cheerleader she was. Anyone could be skinny, cute, or bronze with the right amount of exercise and makeup. No, it was certainly not because of these things that Talia was enviably popular.

It was her stellar interpersonal skills that reeled people in.

She had flawless timing; she knew when to seamlessly interpose thoughtful feedback, when to subtly shift the subject, or when to end the conversation without it feeling awkwardly truncated. She knew how to maintain eye contact—long enough to assure you that she was interested, but short enough as to not make you uncomfortable. Her utterly sincere, or extremely convincing, empathy surpassed the artificial charm that most cheerleaders possessed.

And her eyes—they were loveliest shade of deep brown. They were attentive and kind, never failing to convince you that she did, indeed, care.

She, however, would not care for a fellow cheerleader who broke the heart of her beloved younger brother. To be hated by someone is one thing—to be hated by someone adored by more than half the school populace is another. How horrendous it would be, to be hated by someone so admired and loved by everyone. It was so petty—high school was a fleeting four years of your life, after all—but Bethany was still fearful.

So, with that in mind, Bethany gracefully rejected any advances Austin made. While a girlish smile and apologetic "sorry" usually seemed to suffice, Austin was getting increasingly persistent.

It was worrying her.

- aglintofagitationaglintofagitationaglintofagitatio naglintofagitationaglintofagitationaglintofagitati on -

"Oh God. Oh God. Oh Go—"

"You need to calm down."

"Okay, Alek, I seriously can't do this anymore. I can't—I can't even..._oh my God_. I can't. I want to go home. I_ don't_ care about Gemma. I don't give a crap if she rips off my hair, I_ want_ to go home."

"We have three hours left."

"Alek," Bethany chokes back a panicked sob, "I can't do this. Take me home. _Please._"

Alek doesn't respond. Instead, she speeds up in a clinking rush—the things in Alek's pockets, Bethany realizes, are making those soft, jingling sounds. She wonders briefly if they're the keys to the house.

Bethany speeds up too. They are in a dingy alley located behind the pharmacy, quickly making their way to the backdoor that, ominously enough, is slightly ajar. _Quickly_, of course. Alek, Bethany thinks somewhat bitterly, _never_ moves less than quickly.

After a slight pause, Alek presses her hand against the cool metal door and slowly pushes it open. A breeze of dank air washes over their faces as they stand still for a second, peering into the dark room. As Alek makes a move to step in, Bethany instinctively yanks her back.

Alek looks down at her arm, then at Bethany. While she doesn't attempt to remove Bethany's grip, Bethany swears she sees a glint of agitation in those cobalt eyes. She's not entirely certain though, for Alek's hood shadows most of her face.

"What are you doing?"

"Alek! Alek, please! I wa—"

"I'm aware that you want to go home."

"Alek—"

"We can't."

"But—"

Under her fingers, Bethany can feel the muscles in Alek's arm stiffen. Alek drops into a crouch and pulls Bethany down with her. Her knife is already unsheathed, gleaming and deadly, by her side. With a sharp snap of the wrist, Alek jerks her arm free of Bethany's grasp.

She's looking into the door of the pharmacy, intently scanning the darkness. Eyes never leaving the door, she gently shoves Bethany behind her.

Bethany feels dread collecting in her stomach.

"Someone...someone is in the pharmacy," Alek murmurs so quietly, Bethany has to strain to hear.

"...I don't see anyone."

"It's a _human_. A man."

Then Bethany hears it; a distant clanking somewhere far off in the store, accompanied by the scrape of heavy footsteps. How Alek could even tell the man was human was beyond Bethany.

"Are you sure it's a human? We should go talk to him."

"No, no. Let's go. We shou—" Alek quiets as the clanking and footsteps abruptly cease. Bethany stops breathing. Once again, she rests her hand on Alek's arm.

A loud crash disrupts the short silence.

"_Run_," Alek urges. They are sprinting now, in the direction they originally came from. Somehow, over the cacophony of the breeze rushing into her ears, the wild thrumming of her heart, and her heavy footsteps, Bethany can hear pursuer as clear as day. He is not yet close, but she is far from at ease.

She is disoriented; her head is pulsing violently and her limbs feel as though they do not belong to her. The world is a blur around her, a blend of deep green and grays, all somehow illuminated by the dark blue of the sky.

She is no longer exhausted; fear is providing her with the energy she had so desperately needed before.

Bethany dimly registers a sound, something that slices clearly through the blurry chaos that besets her.

A shout. A man's voice.

"_C'mere_! Come back here!"

His voice is awfully guttural and high—rather unpleasant, really. Nothing that would ever make her willingly turn around and see who it belongs to.

But she does. And she immediately regrets it.

When he gets a full look at her, his battered face alights with a look Bethany knows all too well. Despite the considerable distance between them, that despicable lascivious gleam in his eyes is unmistakable. She grimaces a bit—the man could easily be as old as her father.

That isn't what she regrets seeing, however.

Her eyes drop to his chest, where he's cradling his right arm. She suppresses a scream.

His hand was severed just above his wrist; the stump is wrapped loosely with some dirty, bloodied bandages. The poorly wrapped bandages do little to conceal the gruesome wound, much to Bethany's horror. She can spot parts of the cleaved bone, jagged and rough at the end. Ragged bits of flesh spills out from the cracks of the thin fabric.

She's had enough.

She stops running. She stands quietly, staring at the man, who has also stopped running as well. After a few minutes of wordless watching and soft panting, he takes one step towards her. When she recoils back, he lifts his arms in surrender. Alek is as still as a statue, gripping Bethany's arm with unbelievable strength. Alek's skin strain across her knuckles; they take on a sickly, sallow shade as she tightens her grasp.

"I mean no harm, girlie. C'mere. Let's just have a nice, civil conversation and we'll see where to go from there, hmm?"

"_Come on. _Let's _go_," Alek hisses.

Bethany is quiet. When the man takes another step forward, Alek yanks Bethany back.

But Bethany merely falls backwards. She barely registers Alek swiftly catching her and shouting her name. Alek is violently shaking her by the shoulders.

_"Bethany! Wake up! Bethany!"_

_"That her name? Ain't that cute..."_

_"Stay back. Stay back!"_

_"Aw, real heart-warming shit we got here. You protectin' your pretty little friend?"_

_"Stay. Back."_

She lets the darkness overcome her vision. Let Alek deal with it. Deal with the man, the supplies.

She was done.

Her last thoughts disperse as she closes her eyes.

* * *

a/n:

Oh boy...it's been a while. I'm super sorry! D:

Thanks again to my awesome reviewers. Seriously encouraged me to write this chapter.

well...yay Merle! :D

Love that guy, even if he's a crude dude.

Thank you! Leave me a review?


	8. Found the Wafers

Alek looked down at Bethany, still cradled in her arms. She is deathly pale, her chest lightly rising and falling with each shallow breath she took. Her face is an odd contortion of simultaneous relief and discomfort.

Bethany was out cold.

She had noticed the slight wilt in Bethany's voice, the falter in her steps as she desperately struggled to keep pace with Alek. Yet, she had dismissed Bethany's pleas as petty, thinking that they would cease as the two girls continued their journey.

They, after all, only had three hours left. They would've have spent the remaining time in the pharmacy before making the two-hour trek back home.

They were so close to being done.

Alek's thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the soft smack of rubber against pavement. The man has begun walking, tentatively closing up the vast distance between them. Judging by the painstakingly slow thud of each footfall, Alek assumes he's being cautious.

Or smug.

Really, why rush? He's reckons that, even with one hand, it will be easy to take on two, defenseless girls, especially when one was unconscious.

Alek thinks otherwise.

In one swift motion, she places herself in front Bethany's supine figure, and brandishes her knife before her. She's low to the ground, resting lightly but firmly on the balls of her feet. A thrill of excitement runs through the muscles of her arms, leaving ice-cold anticipation in its wake. Unwavering, she stares into the eyes of the older gentleman.

For a moment, he looks a bit taken aback by her sudden movements. The bewilderment in his eyes, however, is quickly replaced by something else.

The edges of eyes crinkle with amusement as he looks Alek over and mockingly appraises her stance.

"We got a fighter here, _hmm_? Man, no offence," he chuckles a bit, "but you look like you can't even hurt sleeping beauty with that knife of yours."

"Try me," she replies monotonously. A breeze rustles the litter and garbage that clutters the dirty alleyway like cheap decorations. The scent of rot and filth is ever-present in the thick, Atlanta air. They're not bothered by it though—both are preoccupied with staring down the other.

Things like the stifling heat and undead are of little concern to them.

He stares at her for a second, all traces of amusement vanished. His eyes are a steel blue, cutting away at the very surface of her skin. But she doesn't flinch.

"You got balls, man. Probably more then my pansy ass brother." His tone is derisive, sarcastic. The harsh smile and hard look in his eyes, however, suggests there's something more to what he's saying.

"What do you want from us?"

"Where you stayin' at? You got a group?"

Alek tightens the grip on her knife, agitated.

This man was far too brash for her liking.

Not only has he sidestepped her question, but he's suddenly attained the right to probe into her life?

"Answer my question."

"Mine first."

"Where we are staying," she narrowed her eyes, "is of no concern to you."

His eyes dart over to her shoulder, examining the backpack she has loosely slung on.

"You got supplies?"

"Not for you."

"Huh..." He scratches his chin with exaggerated thoughtfulness as he scans her over. He glances at Bethany, his appreciative smirk only further agitating Alek. Before she could say anything though, he looks back at her with that sharp glint in his eyes.

"Tell me—what kind of group sends a_ fine-looking_ woman and a cocky brat to get their shit? You with a buncha pregnant women or what? Seem real desperate to me."

"What do you want?"

"You real direct, you know that? Kinda like that." he smiles broadly, yellowed teeth gleaming.

"Well, since you asked so nicely, I'm gonna answer nicely." He lifts his unsevered hand, pointing a grubby finger at her shoulder. He's walking towards her.

"Gimme those supplies."

"No," she replies instantly. When he smirks in reply, she quickly realizes her mistake.

Bethany.

The man is increasing his pace.

"I'm gonna ask again. _Gimme_. _Those_. _Supplies_."

"No."

"Alrighty then."

And in a flash, he's in front of her, arm stretched back and muscles flexed. With vicious speed, he lunges forward, fist in tow. She ducks before his blow makes contact; his fist narrowly misses her temple, lightly cuffing the top of her head instead.

Not wasting the opportunity, she cleanly slices his bicep with her knife.

"Shit," he smiles and hops back. She's made a shallow, but long cut—the maroon blood moves out steadily from the wound. She grits her teeth; she hadn't reached the artery. If only she had cut a little deeper, this redneck would be gasping and bleeding out like a poor wretch.

"I can't believe it. You _got_ me." Like Alek, he's not panting just yet. His voice comes out clear and calm, ringing loudly through the thick silence of the night.

His toned physique and brutal quickness suggest the qualities of a trained fighter. He has both experience and strength over her. She may be quicker, but she couldn't dodge and slash forever. Like a relentless machine, he would come at her over and over again, until she faltered and a punch made its mark.

He had her cornered. With Bethany and the supplies behind her, she couldn't just run away. So all she could do was attempt to fend off this man for as long as she could, before he would end her with one, conclusive hit.

She was no less vulnerable than Bethany, lying peacefully in the trash.

"Let me repeat myself. You gonna gimme the supplies or not?"

"No."

He frowns a bit. He then proceeds to flex his fingers and pop several joints in his neck.

"Then I'm real sorry 'bout this."

He comes at her again, noticeably quicker than before. His eyes are practically glowing with fervor as he unleashes a flurry of blows she narrowly avoids and dodges. Alek manages to work in some cuts with her knife, but they're nothing fatal; he moves far too quickly for her to land a clean cut. She's proving to be a refreshing challenge for him, and he's enjoying every minute of it. With every punch he misses, he grows more excited, sending five more her way.

Alek, on the other hand, grows increasingly tired.

Her footing grows heavy. Her concentration dwindles.

She has greatly underestimated the man, underestimated the brute force he possessed.

She doesn't even see the last blow that knocks her straight to the ground.

A crushing force smashes against her jaw, instantly bringing her to her knees. She doesn't even have the strength to stay upright; she instantly collapses onto her back, staring up at the sky.

For a long minute, he stands over her, a black silhouette against the white moon.

Just how much time has passed?

"Real sorry 'bout this kid. Gotta be done, though."

He lifts up a boot and sharply brings it down on her shin.

Her screams ring loudly through the thick silence of the night.

The searing pain rushes from the point of origin, spreading through her chest, throat, and head. It consumes her like flames, overwhelming her senses with unimaginable agony.

When the quiet has settled again, she's breathing heavily, each ragged breath rattling her ribs.

She dimly hears some rustling, scraping, and then a soft thump—accompanied by a soft murmur.

It takes her mind a while to register what is happening. Her eyes widen with fear.

"No...no. Take the supplies. Take all of them. Just don't take her," Alek pleads, voice hoarse with pain. He ignores her. As she hopelessly stares up at the stars, Alek can hear him rifling through the food they found; there's the sharp crackle of a package being peeled open.

"Mhmm. Hadn't had me one of these in a while," he murmurs quietly to himself. He munches contently on the food.

"Don't...take her..._please_."

"You ain't out yet? _Shit_, you really do got some balls." She hears him nearing her, each step a sharp thud against the filthy concrete. He rustles through her backpack before pulling something out. He drops it neatly on her chest.

"Here, kid. You stay alive now."

With Bethany slung over his shoulder and the supplies over the other, he leaves the crippled girl with a package of wafers and her despair.

He quickly consumes another packet.

* * *

a/n:

Thank you guys for reviewing, as usual! :)

Hope I did Merle justice...

Also, I would like to add that Alek is not all talk. Or show. Or whatever.

She _can _fight, but Merle is a bloody beast. Absolutely destroyed T-dog in five seconds.

He's definitely had some sort of military instruction of some sort. Plus he's ridiculously strong. Punched Rick's nose too. D:

I'd say that if you can keep up with a guy that punched Rick Grimes in the face, you're pretty impressive.

Leave me a review? :)


	9. Troublesome

He was sleeping underneath the shade of the cherry blossom tree. Grand and rich with color, its deep pinks and magentas fluttered from slender strokes of ebony branches. It was strategically tucked behind the grand pergola, which was overrun with vibrant vines and fragrant yellow flowers. The picturesque scene was awashed with the mellow light of the sun.

Sitting on a marble bench mere paces away, was a younger Gemma holding her books and observing the boy—more like man, really—with cool interest. His face, handsome but noticeably uneasy in his dream state, is nothing short of captivating. She, however, is not fascinated with his cut-glass cheekbones and wavy tendrils of short, caramel hair. She does not entertain the darker fancies that other girls her age might have.

Gemma is looking at his fingers.

They twitch and twiddle about in some kind of frenzied dance, colliding with each other, breaking apart, and colliding once again. They are long and elegant, moving without the purpose they had been gifted with. In a strange way, it is mesmerizing.

Her moment of observation is abruptly ended when a small, olive-skinned girl walks past the boy, pauses a bit, and crouches down besides him. Her face, pleasant in an open and radiant kind of way, is marked with a soft smile. She drops her satchel and casually lies besides him, giggling a bit when he wakes up with a start. He clambers up to his feet, breathing a little heavily. The girl stands up as well, but not nearly as rushed.

"You—," he splutters, "when did you get here?!"

"I came just now," she replies softly. Her inflection was slightly uneven, suggesting a foreign background of some sort. She's avoiding his eyes, displaying a shyness that contradicted her previously bold behavior.

"Don't...don't do these kind of immature things," he mutters, wiping his face to cover his evident embarrassment. "It's troublesome."

Almost instantly, the little grin on her face is replaced with a genuine look of concern. Her eyes are large and dark when they scan the tall boy's face. He pauses in his face-wiping and stares back at her. After a moment, he clears his throat and busies himself with smoothing out his clothes and hair. The silence rolls out until the girl finally decides to speak.

"Oh,_ amore mio_," she starts tenderly, "did you have another bad dream?"

"It's nothing. It's nothing you should be concerned about." Despite his mild response, that brief flash of melancholy in his weary eyes seems to suggest otherwise.

But the girl acknowledges his boundaries, not wanting to push him any further.

"Okay. You want to go to class now? You missed two already."

"No...no. I'm just going to rest a bit more. I hardly got any sleep last night."

She smiles again, the same gracious smile, and nods. She walks away without another word.

Gemma stands up to leave as well, clutching her sketchbook to her chest. He glances at her, staring at her, but not really seeing her. His eyes are uncertain, glazed over with confusion and pain.

She makes her way to her next class, not wanting to be late. She swears she could feel her lungs tightening, struggling to release the lightest breath.

But she doesn't dare breathe until she leaves his presence.

She sits in her customary seat in the art room, the one in the far left corner. And she waits, watching the clock.

Surely enough, he arrives right before the bell rings, taking the seat right in front of hers. She waits a couple minutes for him to settle in, take out his sketchbook, and lean comfortably on his desk. After a long pause, she summons the courage to lift her hand and gently tap his shoulder.

"Hi," she smiles a bit, trying her best to imitate the girl from before. The smile feels forced and stiff on her face, but the boy seems to receive it quite well. The corner of his mouth rises the slightest bit and, ignoring the Ms. Teia's dirty look, screeches his chair around to face her.

"You're Gemma, right?" His tone is warm and friendly. He was not the same boy from before. That boy, vulnerable and mysterious underneath the vibrant cherry blossom tree, was a solemn shadow of the one that sat in front of her now. His fingers, still long and elegant, rested surely and steadily on the edge of her desk.

"Yes. And you are Anthony?"

"Yup. That's me." His language is informal and his tone is chipper.

The boy from before is dead. He is a fleeting image, a soft smudge on Gemma's conscience.

Despite her slight uneasiness, she continues to smile.

"I was wondering if you could help me with my painting. I need a fresh perspective."

"Yeah, no problem. Sounds cool."

"Cool. Thanks."

There is a bit of an awkward silence, but they both grin and brush it off.

Anthony turns back to his desk, only to screech around five seconds later.

"You, uh, wanna get coffee afterwards?" He looks at her expectantly, flashing his teeth this time.

"Sounds cool."

"Cool."

He turns to the front, oblivious to Gemma's tiny smile.

- troublesometroublesometroublesometroublesometroubl esometroublesometroublesome -

She woke up clammy and white-faced, desperately gasping for air. She lies for a minute, trying to calm her frantic heart and collect her thoughts.

Her lips feel dry, tongue like lead in her mouth. Her head is throbbing considerably.

She needs to stand eventually. There is far too much that has to be done, after all.

The sky is a horrendous shade of orange. She squints against the sun and slowly pulls herself up. There is a crowbar nearby, perhaps a little more than a foot long, that is half-hidden behind the dumpster. With heavy feet, she limps over and picks it up. It is dirty and rusted, darkened with patches of dried blood and other substances. She wipes it off her pants.

She pulls off her black sweatshirt, drapes it around her neck, and pulls up the leg of her worn jeans. Thankfully, it appears as though the bone hasn't gone broken through skin. There is, however, enough swelling to make her wince a bit.

After aligning the crowbar to the side of her leg, she steadies it with one hand and methodically wraps the sweatshirt around. With a pained grunt, she finishes off the makeshift splint with a rather bulky knot.

After examining it for a bit, she tentatively takes a few steps forward. The pain is definitely there, but it's bearable. As long as she doesn't apply too much pressure to the injured leg, she could manage.

She hobbles slowly down the alleyway, heading for home. She would need to tell Gemma and Saoirse immediately. How would she even tell them?

"Right, so Bethany was kidnapped and our supplies were stolen. I broke my leg too,"she practices aloud. Her voice sounds abnormally loud in the narrow alleyway. It cuts cleanly through the miasma of decay and ruin like a knife.

She shakes her head. She would have to try another approach.

"Right, so Be—"

A bloodcurdling growl echoes through the alleyway.

She freezes.

* * *

a/n:

HEY. It's been a while.

I've had a ridiculous number of tests (still do), so studying has taken up 95% of my schedule. I'm very sorry for not updating any sooner!

Anyway, right, so Alek is kind of screwed. I love tormenting lovely Alek. :D

She's quiet, so it's great fun to push her over the limit! WOO!

Thank you for reading! Leave me a review? :)


	10. Not Ready

Saoirse coughed, brushing away the puff of smoke with a dainty white hand.

"Excuse me, but I'd like to speak to Dr. Shan—"

"Brody—call him Brody," the girl, not much older than Saoirse herself, tapped the slim cigarette at the edge of the ashtray and typed feverishly away at her computer, "he likes to be on a first-name basis with his clients. I'm Sam by the way."

"Alright, Sam, may I speak to Brody? We scheduled an appointment at—"

"12:30? He's waiting for you in the room down that hallway, the second door to the left, " Sam waves her cigarette to her left, her dark eyes leaving the screen for a second to glance at Saoirse. Her unsmiling, gaunt face is charming in a way Saoirse can't explain.

"Right, thanks Sam."

"My pleasure.

Saoirse walked to the specified room, trying to contain the anxiety that picked away at her stomach. He was young, Kathy had said, but far more than qualified. He was remarkably intelligent, having graduated from one of those prestigious ivy leagues, and already earning more than Kathy ever would.

She pulled open the door and slipped quietly into the room. The first thing that she noticed was the faint scent of fresh cologne and crisp juniper. The source of the second smell, it didn't take her too long to find out, emanated from the candles that rested in delicately carved holders atop the marble fireplace. Beautifully weaved tapestries, depicting extravagant castles and lush gardens, hung neatly from the deep maroon walls. Two comfortable papasan chairs were situated directly in the center of the room, half-buried in the plush, chocolate rug. A delicate chandelier glowed above, bathing everything in a soft yellow light.

The source of the first smell was seated cross-legged in one papasan chair, wearing a contemplative look. At the sight of Saoirse though, a handsome smile spread almost immediately across his lightly freckled face.

"Saoirse," he said without hesitation, "hey, how are you? Sit here," he gestured to the other papasan chair, "we have much to talk about."

Hiding her slight surprise at his sunny disposition and strong British accent, she smiled, not nearly as easily as he, and took the seat. She leaned back uncertainly into the brown cushions and crossed her legs. Quietly, she studied his features, as he did the same.

He was undeniably attractive, with his disheveled copper hair, pleasantly angular face, and searching blue eyes. He was tall too—he looked endearingly awkward and large in the exact chair that seemed to engulf Saoirse in all its cushions and pillows. Yet, he smiled all the same. He knew she would feel more at ease if he did. And he was getting paid $250 an hour for sitting in a glorious room and talking to people about their problems.

There was nothing he could_ not_ smile about.

"So Saoirse, what brings you here today?"

"I have," she pulls her gaze away from his probing eyes, "some issues, Dr. Shanners."

"Please," he offers her another disarming grin, "call me Brody. I'm all ears, ma'am. Tell as little or as much as you'd like."

"I think I'm ready to die," she states abruptly. She expects him to be taken aback by her sudden outburst, but he looks as even-tempered as though she'd told him the weather forecast.

His eyes, as clear and calm as the placid pools of rainwater that collect after a violent storm, do not reflect the apprehension she feels. His voice, so somber Saoirse could hardly believe it was the same person if she wasn't staring right at him, comes out low and gentle.

"You've considered suicide, then?"

She nods, ignoring the shame that twisted her gut.

"Multiple times I've tried killing myself. I always stop before things become too fatal," she scoffs.

"Why do you think you have suicidal thoughts?"

"For the same reasons other people do. No purpose in life. Depression."

"Why do you stop before it becomes too fatal?"

"Because suicide is a selfish decision."

"Selfish? How so?"

"You haven't taken consideration of how it would affect those around you. You're making others unhappy by becoming happy."

"Are we responsible for making others happy? Why not just make yourself happy and relieve yourself from all the pain?"

"Because it's selfish."

"And that makes it bad. Selfishness makes suicide bad."

"Yes. Or at least, I think so anyway."

"So suicide is bad because it's selfish and makes others unhappy."

"Yes."

"Why should you care about making others happy?"

"I don't care about making people happy. I care about not making them unhappy."

"Isn't making them happy the same as not making them unhappy?"

"No. It's not."

"Elaborate, please, Saoirse. I feel a bit lost."

"Dr. Shan—, Brody, I think making someone unhappy is making them sad or angry. Making them happy is making them laugh and smile. I want to make people do neither of that."

"What is making people neither happy or unhappy then?"

"Having no impact on their lives whatsoever."

"So nothing. So doing and/or being nothing is neither making them happy or unhappy, which is what you desire."

"Yes."

"Then that's simply not existing, right?"

"Right."

"Then isn't that not being alive?"

"What? No...no, it's not, I..." She stared at him, open-mouthed, desperately searching her mind for an answer. Suddenly producing a clipboard from nowhere, Brody clicks his pen and starts scribbling things down.

"You don't commit to committing suicide because you're selfless, is that what you're saying?"

"What? No, no, I'm most definitely selfish."

"Yet, you're here, in front of me, most definitely alive and breathing. And that's because you haven't committed suicide because you think it's a selfish decision."

"...yes."

"You aren't ready to commit suicide because it's selfish?"

"...yes."

"But you want to cease existing?"

"Yes," she answers confidently.

Hes nods and murmurs something incoherent, and clicks his pen twice before writing something else down.

"Then, Saoirse, you aren't ready to die."

- youaren't readyto dieyouaren't readyto dieyouaren't readyto dieyouaren't readyto dieyouaren't readyto die -

Instinctively, her hand went to the sheath only to grasp at...

Nothing.

The damn redneck must have taken her weapon as well.

She whirls around, intending to run back the direction she came in, only to see another horde, while still a good distance away, rapidly approaching her. The growling behind her intensifies, accompanied by that unmistakable uneven shuffle.

Alek was quickly getting sandwiched in this tiny alleyway, and she needed to act fast. She was disoriented and exhausted; with this leg, she couldn't outrun, much less fight, them.

She needed to hide.

Her eyes zeroed in on the backdoor of the pharmacy, where Bethany and she would have entered if it weren't for some one-handed lunatic. As quickly as she could manage, she hobbled over to the door and shut it firmly behind her.

The room was dark; Alek could only make out the silhouettes of toppled furniture and several opened boxes, which held dozens of empty pill bottles that glinted mockingly at her in the darkness.

Her labored breathing penetrated the silence.

A dull ringing had begun in the back of her ears; slowly, a sharp pain began to spread from her temples, across her forehead, and to the back of her neck. She ignored it, and dragged a nearby dresser over to the door, and prayed it would hold.

After scanning the room, and making sure no one—living or undead—was there, she carefully maneuvered her way around the cluttered room, stepping over bloody bandages and discarded wrappers. She spotted a worn, streaked mattress shoved in the corner of the small room.

She pulled open the door to the next room, which, unsurprisingly enough, was the pharmacy itself.

A sticky breeze brushed over her face as her eyes took a second to adjust to the light. The windows to the pharmacy had been partially broken, and shards of glass crackled noisily underneath her boots with each step. The store was in a complete disarray; multiple shelves had fallen over, dark substances stained the once pristine floors, and containers and boxes of every kind littered the counter. The gingham curtains were torn to shreds, floating lifelessly in the desolate store.

She hadn't taken another step when the click of a gun sounded right beside her.

"Who are you? What happened to your leg?"

Alek sighed deeply and raised her hands.

"Someone broke my leg and no, I'm not bit."

"Someone? Who?"

The woman still hadn't lowered her gun, much to Alek's annoyance. Slowly, Alek turned her head to the right, coming face-to-face to the barrel. The woman holding the gun was pretty, with round, flushed cheeks and cropped brown hair.

She looked remarkably well-fed, Alek thought enviously.

Her grip on the gun was correct, suggesting at least some sort of training, but her hands shook considerably. With one clean swipe, Alek could just knock the gun out of her hands and...

"Look, I'm injured and have no weapons," she added the last bit a little acerbically, "I don't know who broke my leg. All I need to do is treat the wound and go home."

"Home? What home? Wher—"

"Maggie," a male's voice suddenly interrupted her southern drawl, accompanied by the rustling of clothing, "what's going on?"

Half-dressed and sleepy-looking, a young Asian man emerged from behind the shelves. He halted in his tracks when he saw the two women, and hastily reached for the gun at his waist. Except that there was no gun at his waist. A bit embarrassed, he ran back behind the shelves to retrieve his weapon.

Alek stared at the women, an eyebrow arched with clear amusement.

"I apologize if I interrupted anything, but you _are_ aware that the world is in the middle of a crisis?"

A deep burn started in the woman's cheeks as she spluttered to retort. Before she could reply, however, her lover returned, pistol in hand and trained steadily on Alek.

"Ah, there you go. Nice and prepared."

"Maggie," the man didn't look away from Alek while addressing his partner, "who is this?"

"My name is Alek. I was recently robbed of supplies. I'm currently seeking," she turned back to the woman and smiled, "new ones."

Quicker than the eye could follow, she yanked the woman's wrist and pulled the gun free from her grip, while simultaneously pulling the woman towards her. With practiced efficiency, she nestled the hard muscle of her arm underneath the woman's chin and pressed the gun precisely against the temple.

"Maggie!"

The woman struggled at first, but Alek merely tightened her grip around her neck.

"Pass the gun over."

Almost instantly, the man slid it over to Alek. His devotion to the woman was commendable, to say the least. With her foot, she slid the gun behind her.

"Bring me all the supplies."

"Glenn," the woman cried desperately, "don't do it."

Alek tightened her grip, quickly silencing the woman.

With remarkable obedience, he did. He went back to the spot behind the shelves and returned with two backpacks. Carefully, he set them down. His eyes, wide with fear and concern, was fixated on the woman's face.

"Bring them closer."

With his foot, he pushed them closer to Alek.

"Closer."

This time, he went forward as well, moving slowly and gradually toward the two women.

"Stop."

He immediately froze in his tracks.

"Thank you."

And she hurled Maggie at him, practically tossing the woman at him like a doll. They went down in a tangle of limbs, which wasn't, Alek thought wryly, a situation they weren't particularly unfamiliar with. She quickly crouched down to pick up the other pistol. Before they could stand, the girl already had both packs slung over each shoulder and had walked calmly out the door.

* * *

a/n:

WHY FINALS WEEK WHY.

Thank you for the reviews and patience guys! :D Yer all awesome.

Gahhhh, I'm so sorry for the the really slow update. I have crazy cramming to do this week. :'(

But ooooh, Alek is all cool and evil.

And, what's this, GLEGGIE?!

EHRMAHGAWD.

Oh gosh I need to sleep.

The second part is kind of poking fun at the whole Gleggie crap going on at the pharm. I mean seriously, there's zombies running around and ya'll are cute, but how do you have the time for all the making out and stuff? Gah. It's boggles my mind.

The dialogue in the beginning, with Saoirse and Brody, is importanto, so keep that in mind.

Thank you for reading! Please leave a review!


	11. An Animal

Bethany plunged back into the cool water.

Carefully, she opened her eyes. She looked at the mosaic floor, her vision assisted by the colored lights that spun lazily from the sides of the pool. To an onlooker, the water seemed to pulsate with alternating shades of red, blue, and yellow.

With quiet fascination, Bethany watched the underwater light show. For the first in a long time, the young woman felt perfectly at ease. Here, underneath the smooth, blue water, she would not be judged, her every move calculated, her every word analysed. Her one-piece felt like a second skin, soft and comfortable against her lithe body. Her blond hair, freed from the immaculate ponytail it was usually in, billowed out around her face like a hazy cloud.

She was unrestricted in this underwater wonderland, free from the rules of the society above.

It was strange how she felt so isolated but not lonely at all. When an amber light idly swung over towards her direction, she brought her hand close to her face, examining the wrinkled texture with a slight smile.

A distant splash abruptly ends the moment of tranquil reflection.

Without thinking, she rushes back to surface, eyes wide with fear. There's movement in the corner of her eye, and she whips around—but not quickly enough. The individual had long climbed over the massive fence that circled the pool, and was sprinting through the forest, judging by the distant sounds of frantic crackling and rustling of dried leaves and old branches.

After a moment of petrified silence, she scrambled out of the pool, her hair slick and heavy against her shoulders. The night air draws its chilly fingers across her moist skin.

She's not shivering because of the cold, however.

Bethany reaches for the towel folded neatly at the edge of the pool when a sudden thought crosses her mind. She peers into the water, still flashing in that unearthly way, vainly searching for the source of her initial scare. Whatever it was, it landed a good measure away from her. Towel wrapped tightly around pale shoulders, she walked the circumference of the pool, keeping her eyes on the shifting water the entire time.

A sharp glint catches her eye. The object beckons to her from the bottom of the pool, twinkling as the same amber light glides over it. The towel immediately drops to her thin ankles, and she hops in without the slightest bit of hesitation; she could feel her stomach sinking with dread as she dives deeper and the outline of the object grows clearer. She knows exactly what it is and who sent it. It hadn't taken her long to piece everything together in her head.

She pinches the thin chain between her fingers and stares at the object with a dismal expression on her face. After a few seconds, she pushes off the bottom of the floor and propels back to surface. Once again, she clambers back onto land. This time, however, a dainty necklace swings from her wrist.

The very necklace Austin had given her just days prior.

The very necklace she promptly returned with a tight smile.

He was terribly persistent. It scared Bethany. His behavior was growing noticeably more aggressive. He touched her arms often, looking at her with those wet, love struck eyes.

She didn't want him. She did not secretly crave for his affections, his touch, his eyes. Bethany was too nice to feel utterly disgusted by his infatuation, but what she felt was dangerously near.

And he had just intruded on her property, disrupted her moment of sweet solitude to return the very necklace she refused to receive from him. She was angry that she felt so vulnerable. That he made her feel so vulnerable.

As if he were at a dolphin show, he saw—no, _observed_—her gliding in the water, clad in her conservative swimsuit. She had unknowingly provided him with a show, certainly a feast for those moist eyes, and he rewarded her with the lovely diamond necklace clenched tightly in her fist.

She was furious because she was powerless.

She was furious because she could do absolutely nothing to protect herself.

-An animal,reallyAn animal, reallyAn animal, reallyAn animal, reallyAn animal, reallyAn animal, reallyAn animal, really -

"Age."

"What?"

"How old is she?"

The young man patiently strapped the girl's ankles and wrists to the examining table. She was rather thin, he thought a bit disappointedly; he would have to prepare a meal plan laden with protein immediately. Hopefully she would become sturdy enough to endure the tests.

"Like hell I know."

"Is she injured? Bit?"

"Dunno man."

"I'll need to check. You haven't unknowingly brought me an infected one, have you?"

His tone was perfectly cool, but it wasn't difficult to detect subtle notes of annoyance in his voice. He smoothed down his clean hair and paused, a thought suddenly crossing his mind.

She would most definitely need to bathe. He ran a finger over her forearm, another over a tendril of blond hair. She had been cleaning herself but not as regularly as he would have preferred. Most likely the occasional dip in the pond or lake. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. He would have to boil some water immediately. A thorough sponge bath should suffice.

"Dunno man. Chick fainted and I picked her up."

"I'll need to check. Experimenting on a healthy human is," he pulled at each restraint, checking the resilience, "such a rare opportunity, after all."

"You a crazy scientist or something? You like, what, 17 kid?"

"I'm 28."

"Ah, right. Sorry 'bout that."

"That I'm 28, or that you thought I was 17?"

"Dunno. Bit of both."

"Right. Anyway, here's the medication you asked for."

With pursed lips, he handed the man a neatly folded prescription bag.

"That's it? I bring a whole freaking girl, and you give me some pills?"

"If I do recall correctly, I _did_ just treat your arm. And you brought me a 'whole freaking girl' that may not be the _human_ subject you specifically promised me. I'd say the deal was weighted far more in your favor than mine."

"At least gimme some more painkillers, man."

"You are certainly persistent, aren't you? Fine, here."

"Thanks doc."

"Goodbye. Oh, and Merle—"

"Yeah?"

"If you intend on receiving medical treatment and supplies from me again, make sure to definitely bring me a _human_ subject, yes?"

"'Course doc."

"Thank you, Merle."

The young man, trim in his pristine lab coat, wordlessly watched Merle Dixon stroll out of the room. How tasteless he was, in that streaked wife-beater and filthy jeans. That brute strength of his was the only decent quality he possessed. The doctor smiled a bit; it was laughably easy to manipulate the redneck. Merle was remarkably strong, yes, but he was a soldier. He was made to mindlessly fulfill orders, and nothing more.

Merely a simple-minded meat-head that lived to eat, drink, and shit. Nothing more.

An animal, really.

* * *

a/n:

Woahahahah. It's been a long time.

Thank you for your reviews guys and putting up with my terrible slowness. :]

Anyway, OOOOH creepy doctor guy, oOOooOooooH.

Don't want to give too much away, so let's just leave it as that...

What shall happen to Bethany? Alek? GLEGGIE?!

Read to find out...MUAHAHA. :]

Leaving me a review would be great. Thank you for reading.


	12. Face of a Doll

Gemma unhooked her heels and placed them onto the shoe rack. She studied the crimson soles of her Louboutins for what seemed like a terribly long time.

She exhaled.

Cheeks flushed, she smoothed out her hair and straightened her clothes. She probably looked horrible right now, but she didn't care. Her heart felt like it was about to burst and her hands shook a little with excitement.

It was just a kiss. This odd sensation working over her was both frightening but exhilarating. Her chest ached with a pleasant pain.

She took a deep breath. Composure. Maintain composure.

Gemma was immaculate in every sense, all the way from her expensive haircut down to her freshly manicured toenails.

She couldn't forget that.

As she tilted her chin upwards, an odd change gradually washed over her elegant features: her mouth smoothed out into a frown, her eyes deadened the slightest bit, and her hands hung limply by her sides. Composure is everything. She was mature, she was intelligent. A little peck like that should not ruffle her this easily.

Like a breeze snuffing out a candle, she eliminated her petty emotions in mere seconds.

She sighed and went to the kitchen, heading straight to the refrigerator.

Alek had bought groceries today. The cool white shelves were neatly lined with packages of chicken breast, a carton of organic milk, several tubs of fat-free yogurt, and other healthy foods. Gemma smiled a bit; having Alek buy groceries meant she never had to worry about watching her weight. Alek was very meticulous with her grocery shopping, only purchasing foods of the purest quality and highest grade. Even if it wasn't intentional, her thoroughness was admirable. Kind, even.

Perhaps Alek really did care for her.

Gemma dispelled the silly notion as she swirled a spoon in the creamy yogurt. She took a bite, savored the oddly delicious sourness, and stirred again.

How ridiculous. Gemma didn't even remember what her face really looked like. It was always hiding in that massive of hood of hers.

She took the second bite a bit aggressively.

It was agitating, really, to see her skulking around the room like a robber or something. Would it really kill her to wear something other than black for once? Gemma could probably lend her something, maybe casually place a dress or two on her bed.

She bit her lip.

But then it would seem as if she was being pushy...

She would have to think this through more carefully. Maybe Alek could—

A door slams open, followed by a loud thump. It comes from the living room.

"...Alek?" Gemma calls.

She sets down her yogurt. There is nothing but cold silence.

"Alek?" After a long pause, she quietly slides open a kitchen drawer and pulls out a knife. It looks as if it's been recently sharpened. It's Alek, of course, quietly maintaining the little things Gemma doesn't even notice.

Carefully, Gemma presses herself against the wall and makes her way to the entrance where she had been just minutes before. Her stockinged feet glide silently over the floor. Her breaths are tiny, barely audible. Teeth gritted, she feels the side of her face twitching again in that horrendous manner she's tried so desperately to fix.

When she reaches the room, she freezes. She lays the knife on the coffee table and hurriedly goes over to the black-clad girl lying facedown on the floor.

Gemma crouches besides her and gently turns her over.

"Alek? Hey?"

Hood having fallen backwards, Alek lies in Gemma's arms with her face clearly exposed for the first time.

Her eyes are shut; long black lashes cast thin shadows against her soft cheeks like pale cracks that mar her ivory skin. Her tiny lips are slightly agape, brows gently creased. Ebony hair falls in cropped waves to her pointed chin. It frames a delicate face that glistens with the slightest sheen of sweat.

The face of a porcelain doll, so fragile and forlorn that it might crumble away at your very fingertips.

Suddenly, she speaks.

"He...he cheated. Hid...knife...in left boot..." Alek is merely looking up at her now, words dying away on her cracked lips.

Alek's voice is hoarse with pain. She's wheezing and grasping onto Gemma's sleeve. Her eyes, now opened, are a brilliant cobalt. Wide and unseeing, they are fastened firmly onto Gemma's own eyes.

"Alek?"

"Knife...in...boot," she says softly, "I...didn't lose."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"The money...it's mine. Money..."

Gemma shakes Alek gently by the shoulders. Alek is only giving her that bizarre stare, head eerily jerking back and forth like a marionette's. Suddenly, she coughs violently, showering Gemma's cheeks with dark crimson. Gemma wipes away the liquid, studies it a bit, then runs to retrieve her cell phone.

Alek was slowly bleeding to death. The small girl, scars and bruises hidden underneath layers of clothing, gasped for air and struggled to stay alive.

She was Gemma's roommate.

-Thefaceofa porcelaindollThefaceofa porcelaindollThefaceofa porcelaindollThefaceofa porcelaindollThefaceofa porcelaindoll-

"Do you think they died?"

Saoirse and Gemma were both sitting on the couch now, one empty flowered sofa seat between them. Their weapons were ready by their sides. They watched the front door with impassive eyes.

"Saoirse, do you want to hear something funny?"

"Because it's clearly the appropriate time to be telling jokes right now."

"Alek and I were in the same dorm back at school."

Saoirse glanced at Gemma. She felt too drained to really feel anything, but it was surprising to imagine bossy Gemma and tacit Alek living together peacefully. Well, now that she thought about it, it wasn't that unrealistic. It was, after all, what they were doing now.

"That's...unexpected."

"We were actually pretty compatible. We certainly didn't talk much, but that's not the point."

Gemma picked away at the dirt underneath her nail. She felt disgusting, despite bathing regularly in the nearby pond. She craved for designer perfumes and refreshing exfoliants. Not a pathetic bar of cheap soap that dried out her skin as much as the laundry detergent.

"Try to guess how Alek bought groceries every week."

"She had a job."

"Guess what kind."

Saoirse groaned. She tiredly rubbed her eyes and stretched out her legs onto the coffee table. Even Gemma was bored enough to resort to guessing games.

"Seriously? Fine. A club DJ. A go-go dancer. A tattoo artist."

"Where on earth are you getting those from?"

"Doesn't she seem like the gritty, underground type?"

"You're actually more perceptive than you let on."

"Why, that's awfully kind of you to say."

"She participated in underground knife fighting."

Saoirse sat upright now, looking at stoic Gemma with incredulous eyes.

"_What_?"

"She came to the dorm coughing up blood after a fight one day. That's how I found out."

That would explain Alek's stellar fighting skills. She was a quiet girl, but there was always something a bit off about her: that overly keen awareness, quick reflexes, and ridiculous endurance. Saoirse had assumed she had received martial art training in some form or another, but nothing as quite...interesting as this.

"How...how is she able to do this?"

"She wakes up early in the morning, trains, goes to school, leaves immediately to go wherever those knife fights are held, and comes back late at night to sleep and restart the cycle."

"What about tuition? She can't easily pay off 45 grand a year."

"Depending on how generous bets are, she can make up to 10 grand in one night. She pays for everything by herself. School tuition included."

"Parents?"

"Dead. She's completely on her own."

"Jesus Christ..."

"And to think I was totally unaware of this for the full two years I've been her roommate."

The girls sit in silence for a while, one sorting through past memories and the other trying to comprehend what she had just learned. On the battered couch, the girls thought about silent Alek with what could be considered pity, respect, and a bit of admiration.

Gemma opened her mouth, hesitated, and then spoke.

"I'll never forget her face that night."

She couldn't. She never would. Pale and pained, Alek's face was ingrained deeply into Gemma's mind.

"She was so white. And that awful, desperate gasping...she was dying right in front of me. I couldn't do anything but call 911 and go with her to the hospital. The saddest part? No one visited or called. Alek, on the brink of death, almost left the world without a single person shedding a tear for her."

It's been an entire day since the girls' departure. Heavy rain thumped against the house and the skies were an inky black. It was terribly appropriate for what the girls were currently feeling.

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"...cry for her."

Gemma turned away from Saoirse wordlessly, instead choosing to study the heavily boarded windows. Her green eyes are void of emotion.

"Yes. I did."

* * *

a/n:

Thank you guys for reviewing!

Whooo, some insight into Alek's past. Slowly but surely, we'll learn more about our quiet heroine.

Gemma seems to care for Alek to some degree, I suppose. I'm not entirely too sure myself. :p

Thank you for reading!


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